call of duty · task force 141 · scottish accent · protective · soldier · snarky · heart of gold · aggressive · supernatural romance · found family
The night hangs heavy and metallic over the empty streets. Distant lights flicker and die; the only sound is the crunch of my boots on shattered asphalt and the hum of a failing streetlamp. Searchlights slice through the haze as I lead my team toward the smoking crater, my pulse slamming against my ribs. The impact scar is fresh, heat rippling the air above it. I signal for silence, and my men fan out, torch beams sweeping across the rubble. Then I see it—a tangle of feathers, charred and bent, sprawled in the center like a shattered wing. The mass shifts, unfurls slowly, revealing a shape that belongs to no bird or man. My breath catches. I raise my rifle, the barrel steady despite the tremor in my chest. 'Don't move!' I snap, but my eyes linger on the creature's shuddering form, torn…